


there i found you (marked in constellation)

by possibilist



Category: The Bold Type
Genre: Angry Sex, F/F, dont worry for a second, i promise this is like the most consensual angry sex ever tho, wow this is. so much.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 01:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15353625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibilist/pseuds/possibilist
Summary: 'loving her feels like religion; you don’t know how to tell adena any of it. you’re both heaving breaths and it’s quiet for a moment before she kisses you, hard and all teeth and jaw and you think maybe this is what you deserve, maybe this is all you’ve ever wanted.'





	there i found you (marked in constellation)

**Author's Note:**

> guys this rly just went way off track but it has the happiest ending so roll w it i promise

**there i found you (marked in constellation** )

.

 _there is no ceiling in our garden/ it might be over soon_  
—bon iver, '22 (over soon)

//

it starts as a conversation about the rules and it turns into an argument, and you’re not sure who raised their voice first but it was probably you because you feel your ears get hot and you don’t know how to do this, how to do any of this, because you don’t  _fight_ , you never have.

you get angry, and you think, when you stand from the couch and tower over adena for a moment, who’s still sitting, that you might be an angry person, right now, because you hate not knowing what you’re doing, hate not having the upper hand. adena stands too, though, lifts her chin and sizes you up and maybe you’ve never understood hurt before, either, not like this. your palms sting like you’ve hit something and she’s so beautiful in front of you that you start to cry. 

your tears are hot and furious and you both yell some more and adena is shouting about love and you want to have something to say back, something big and grand and painful that will stop this whole thing but you don’t know what to say, other than that loving her feels like religion, feels like you’ve been holding your breath your entire life underwater and now your lungs are bursting open and whenever you kiss someone else you wish it was her. jane once told you, when you were all young and drunk on wine coolers at prospect park, in the middle of a saturday, lying out near the water, that some poet had wonder what it would be like to preserve the grooves in his lover’s skull, so that he could play them on a phonograph and remember what it felt like to kiss her. you’d wrinkled your nose and said, ‘that’s fucking morbid,’ and sutton had already fallen asleep and jane had shrugged.

you don’t know how to tell adena any of it.

you’re both heaving breaths and it’s quiet for a moment before she kisses you, hard and all teeth and jaw and you think maybe this is what you deserve, maybe this is all you’ve ever wanted.

she shoves you against the wall and you’re kissing her back. she takes your shirt off and bites your collarbone and scratches down your back, and you’re sure she’ll leave marks but you want them, want to remember what it feels like to be wanted this much; what it feels like to  _need_  someone. 

even this furious, she backs up and checks your eyes, pauses and makes sure that some semblance of you both is okay, and in control, and it’s so gentle and thoughtful even in the midst of all of this, it breaks your heart.

you’re crying again and you say  _yes_ , breathe it like it’s the only word you have left, and she nods and sucks hard on your neck and unbuttons your pants. you have been having sex with other girls for three weeks and you had thought you had been fucking, and you  _had_  been, because it didn’t mean anything to you—but you realize now, very concretely, that you have never been  _fucked_  before. it’s surprisingly intimate because adena is rough and it hurts, a little, when she slips three fingers inside of you without any foreplay and you groan and she looks at you and you nod, so she pushes into you again and the base of her hand rubs against your clit and she curls her fingers right into where she knows you want them.

you don’t bruise easily, never have, and you have work tomorrow, but it feels a little like the world is ending all around you and you’ve never been brave; you are just a body and so is she and you want desperately for her to leave a mark.

you come with a muffled little cry into her shoulder, messy and wet and all over her hand, and immediately she backs up. she doesn’t kiss you, just looks at you, unraveled and crying and she is too. you back stings and the spot under your jaw where she had bruised is aching and she hadn’t stroked you down from your orgasm so you’re still  _throbbing_. she lets out a shuddery breath and swallows and turns away, walks toward the bathroom, closes the door softly.

entire cities have fallen because of girls and you stand in your living room, shirt off and pants unbuttoned, and you feel a little dirty and kind of distraught. you don’t now how to tell her that you’re sorry, that you understand, that you want to build a world with her but you just don’t know how.

you somehow manage to put on a sweater and get an outfit for work tomorrow into your overnight bag, and you check the bathroom door and it’s not locked. she’s hunched over on the edge of the tub, her face in her hands, and she’s so beautiful. she doesn’t look up at you and you sigh, put together your makeup in its to-go bag.

‘i’m going to jane and sutton’s tonight,’ you say, all of the anger draining from your bones and giving way to a brutal exhaustion.

she nods.

‘i’ll come back tomorrow,’ you say, this little broken thing of a promise, an offering.

‘i’ll be here,’ she says, and you don’t know whether or not you should touch her, only that you’ve broken her heart.

you reach forward so slowly and she doesn’t move, and when you put your hand on her shoulder blade she lets out a sob and you say, ‘ _fuck_ ,’ and she reaches up and rubs your arm once, so gentle, and then pushes on your hip. 

you understand and you bite your lip before you say, ‘i love you.’

it doesn’t help anything, not really, but she says it back.

you get your keys and you let yourself out; you realize only once you’re walking to the A at canal that she’d worn your coat to dinner earlier and it smells like her perfume.

//

you could’ve taken a lyft but you needed the anonymity and space of the train, even though the G is a fucking pain in the ass and of course your friends would live off the one line that doesn’t run into the city. your transfer at hoyt is quick, though, and you’re so tired so you lean against the pole even though you vowed to never,  _ever_  do that because they’re filthy and you had had bed bugs last summer and you’re convinced it was the train.

the train comes and you wearily sit down near the doors and jane gives you books all the time and sometimes you read them and sometimes you lie about reading them because they’re boring or written by white women for white women or they don’t have any queer characters and sometimes you flat out just don’t understand them. 

but you have one dutifully in your bag right now, and it’s ten stops to greenpoint so you open it to a random page and you read ‘ _it’s okay, said herakles. his voice washed/ geryon open./ herakles switched on the ignition and they jumped forward onto the back of the night. / not touching/ but joined in astonishment as two cuts lie parallel in the same flesh’_  before you start to cry again.

the man across from you looks up from his phone with concern and you take off your glasses and wipe your tears and wave him off. he shrugs and goes back to his phone and you take a deep, really kind of pathetic breath and put in your headphones. your spotify plays frank ocean and you rip them out and roll your eyes and wait silently—staring at an ad of a cactus that definitely looks like a dick—for your fucking stop.

//

you pound at your friends’ door—again, and maybe it should be a sign that this is becoming a frequent occurrence—and you hear them bickering and shuffling around before jane opens the door.

she takes one look at you and says, ‘oh honey,’ and pulls you into a hug, which sutton sees and is soon skidding over to you in a pair of socks and pressing you to her as well.

you start to sniffle and your glasses get smooshed into your face by sutton’s shoulder and jane’s hair is in your mouth and you feel really, really fucked up but also really,  _really_  loved; they are literally holding you together.

jane backs up first and sutton takes your glasses and starts to clean them with a cloth she pulls out of fucking  _nowhere_  and jane wipes under your eyes.

‘what happened?’

you put your bag down and let out a shaky breath and plop down on their couch. sutton hands you your glasses but you put them on the coffee table and you can’t really see but you know you’re going to start to cry again so it’s not really worth it.

‘adena and i had a fight. like, a  _fight.’_  

sutton holds your hand and jane nods in sympathy.

‘it started off just us talking and then we were standing and yelling and then she fucked me against the wall—’

‘—hold on,’ jane says. 

you roll your eyes. ‘it was—i don’t know, kind of hot?’ you feel bad saying  _that_  aloud because you really are so fucking sad but, like, it  _was_.

sutton shrugs. ‘i can see it.’

‘i wanted her to,’ you say, and it kind of sounds like a question but you’re just not sure what kind of  _want_  it was. ‘but i just—’ you shake your head and swallow but the tears come anyway— ‘i love her, so much, and i didn’t ever mean to hurt her and i didn’t know how much i  _was_ , and i don’t know how to fix this.’

your friends rub your back and you realize after jane leans into your shoulder that a bunch of her face mask is on your sweater and somehow it makes everything just slightly bearable. 

‘what do you think you should do?’ sutton asks.

‘fill the entire loft with tulips before she gets home tomorrow. and stop sleeping with other girls,’ you say, and it’s not funny at all but jane lets out a strangled laugh and sutton joins in and you feel a little unhinged but you start laughing too.

it feels like your body is hurt, like you’ve fallen or like you have the flu, how everything aches, but your friends hold you together and it stings just a little bit less.

sutton backs up. ‘i love you,’ she says.

jane squeezes your hand. ‘love you, kat.’

‘i love you guys.’

jane takes a deep breath and then stands, looks you over once. ‘i want to say this with all of the affection in the world, but you look terrible.’

‘i need to shower,’ you say, and you dread it because it’s going to take for fucking ever because you got fucked against a wall and everything about you right now is a goddamn mess and you’re sitting in on a board meeting with jacqueline tomorrow.

sutton kisses your cheek and stands too. ‘do you need conditioner? because we have some that we saw you used and we bought it for you like a week ago, just in case.’

it’s an oddly sweet, very thoughtful gesture—and a little bit of a drag, maybe? but whatever—and you swallow. ‘yeah, thanks.’

they both shrug and sutton follows you in and gives you a towel and shows you how the shower works just to make you eventually laugh, because you’ve been staying at their apartment for years and she’s being dramatic and funny just for you.

they do, actually, have your shampoo and conditioner and when you’re done they give you pajamas and they’ve made popcorn and opened a bottle of wine. sutton gets you an undereye mask because they are puffy as hell and you watch drag race together and before you fall asleep somehow they even find a silk bandana you’d left at some point, you guess, because you vaguely recognize it.

they pile blankets on the couch and it’s like two in the morning but they both kiss your cheeks a bunch and you feel like your entire life is fucked up and falling apart but the blankets they gave you are soft and your eyes aren’t nearly as swollen, and you sleep through the night.

//

it takes you  _forever_  to do your makeup the next morning because you do in fact have three hickeys and they’re dark and obvious and you sigh and eventually sutton helps you blend your concealer with a bright smile.

‘not my first rodeo,’ she says.

‘sutton has them all the time,’ jane adds on, and sutton rolls her eyes but she does kick out a bitch ass cover up job in like two minutes so you’re inclined to believe jane.

you get all of you a lyft because you cannot take the G to the 7 and then walk from grand central this morning, you literally just can’t, and then you buy them breakfast for letting you stay even though they try to pay. 

you go your separate ways at work and honestly you didn’t think you looked bad at all until jacqueline sees you and she pulls you aside before the board meeting into a quiet area of the hallway.

‘either you’re very stoned,’ she says, gesturing toward your eyes, ‘or you have been crying.’

you sigh. ‘i’m absolutely not stoned at all.’ you want to add  _kinda wish i was_  under your breath but she’s your boss so you don’t do that.

‘adena?’

you debate flat out lying but she’s always seen through your bullshit. ‘i don’t know how to—’ you shake your head. ‘i don’t know.’

jacqueline nods, accepts that. ‘at least there were no errant and mildly homophobic tweets this time.’

‘oh my  _god_ ,’ you grumble, but it makes you smile and she pats your shoulder.

‘the old straight white men await us.’

you nod and straighten up and put on your game face. you’re very, very incompetent right now at how to love someone well, you think, but you are fucking amazing at your job.

‘my favorites,’ you say, and jacqueline laughs.

//

last night you had been delirious but you sit at your desk after the board meeting and you end up googling florists. jane comes over to you because you think she’s either stuck on something or bored—maybe both—and when she looks over your shoulder she says, ‘wow. you were serious about that.’

‘i didn’t know i was serious until, like, four minutes ago.’

‘sounds about right.’

‘ouch.’

she laughs, pulls up a chair. ‘i do not ever want to see this bill,’ she says, ‘but we know you’re abysmal at math, so let’s make sure you order enough to not  _explode_  your apartment.’

‘i hate you.’

‘you love me,’ she says, opening the calculator on her phone.

she figures out how many flowers you need with a lot of multiplication and division that loses you quickly and then when you press the ‘check out’ button she stands and kisses the top of your head.

‘i’m gonna go tell sutton you just dropped a grand on flowers.’

‘we don’t actually know—’

‘it’s probably more,’ jane says. ‘don’t tell me. ever.’

//

you buy $2089 worth of flowers and you feel a little insane but you leave at lunch to let them into your apartment and then you leave right away because jesus  _christ_ , you really don’t know how to be in love.

you’re distracted for the rest of the day but you queue up a ton of instagram posts and tweets so you can leave on time, but when you get home, your hands shaking when you unlock the door and your phone blowing up with messages of encouragement in your groupchat with jane and sutton, adena is there, surrounded by her favorite flowers, and in all the pain and grief you’ve felt she’s crying and she’s the joy of it all.

she hears you come in and turns toward you and her eyes are wide and brimming with tears. ‘ _kat_.’

‘i guess someone broke in with all of these,’ you say, and you want to kick yourself because you had promised yourself that you would be serious and emotionally mature but oh well. ‘weird robbery, though.’

adena lets out a laugh that turns into a sob and you’re crying to but you can’t move and so you wait. she walks toward you and you drop your bag so that you can kiss her, fully, and you do. you’re surrounded by flowers and she smells like her perfume, like you remember, and her hair is soft and you taste tears, like salt, like the ocean.

‘i’m so sorry,’ you say, breathe it into her mouth so that she can feel all of the new life your lungs have. your kisses are messy and desperate and they hurt but you need them, need to feel the small bones of her spine and the holy of her ribcage, your hands wandering like someone trying to find their way in the dark. ‘ _adena_.’ your voice breaks and she sniffles. ‘i’m so  _sorry_.’

she backs up and swallows and holds your face in her palms. 

‘i didn’t know how much this was hurting you.’

‘it was,’ she says. ‘it is.’

you tuck her hair behind her ear and nod. ‘okay.’

she tilts her head.

‘i’m a quick learner,’ you say, and you wait a few seconds in near terror before she cracks a smile.

‘you’re ridiculous.’

you run your fingers over the tip of her nose, trace her brow, the bow of her lip. ‘you—’ you swallow, think of all the poets jane loves who were somehow brave enough to say things, of this country that doesn’t want her, of all of the ways you are terrified to lose her— ‘i want to marry you.’

it comes out of fucking nowhere and her eyes grow wide and so do yours because that’s not really what you meant to fucking say, and you wish you could pause time to evaluate that you  _did_ actually just say that, because what the  _hell_.

‘ _kat_.’ it’s a full on sentence and you have not heard your name said like  _that_ since you were, like, eight, and punched a boy at recess for touching your hair. ‘what?’

it takes you a few seconds to answer but— ‘i mean it.’ adena looks even more confused. ‘i want to spend my life with you. and i know it’s insane, i do, and i know it’ll be complicated because things are already complicated and obviously i don’t know what the fuck i’m ever doing, except at work, because, like, i killed a board meeting today even after everything last night, and—’

adena squeezes your shoulder and still looks monumentally confused but she says, ‘breathe.’

you do, take a breath, with her, and you kind of feel like you might throw up, but she makes you brave. ‘my friends are going to lose their minds and my parents might never let me stay in their hamptons house ever again but i can afford the rent here, but—with immigration, and with, just, adena.’ you stop your ramble again. ‘adena,’ you say. ‘i am in love with you, and only you, and i want to stop hurting you. i never want to hurt you.’

she’s looking more convinced now, a little in awe.

‘and i want time. i want more time with you. i don’t think my whole life will ever be enough.’

it’s by far the most romantic thing you’ve ever said and you’re honestly a little impressed with yourself because, okay, nice, but it did take you like six tries. 

‘wow,’ she says, looks at you and all the flowers.

‘yeah,’ you say. 

‘i can’t believe you managed all of this.’

‘oh, i’m going to have a meltdown in like an hour, don’t worry.’

she laughs, genuinely, and tugs on your earlobe. ‘what if it doesn’t work out?’

you shrug. ‘i want to be able to try.’

she worries her bottom lip and you feel a  _huge_ rush of panic because you have never been this honest in your entire life, never felt this much of  _anything_ , and if adena says no then you’re going to be left with an apartment full of flowers and you haven’t had anyone important to you die but you think that is the kind of loss it might feel like.

‘okay,’ she says. 

you feel like you might actually fall over. ‘really?’

she seems to sense you sway and guides you to the couch with a concerned little furrow in her brow. ‘are you about to pass out?’

‘i’m fine.’

adena raises her brows.

‘maybe.’

‘kat,’ she says.

‘you know that thing they say about standing too long and not bending your knees, or whatever.’

adena laughs. ‘you will have to practice for our wedding.’

‘whoa,’ you breathe, before you can stop yourself, because, wow, a  _wedding_ , and you’ll have a  _wife_.

adena looks concerned all over again and you shake your head.

‘it’s just really fucking cool,’ you say, and she smiles.

‘you are going to look so beautiful.’

you picture adena in a dress and a pretty hijab and flowers all around her, again, and something inside you settles, because, yeah, it’s really fucking complicated and definitely totally insane to marry someone after four months but you are highkey in love with her and you do, with every ounce of your being, want to try.

there’s really not enough time in the world because you’re building so many big, good parts of yourself for her,  _because_  of her, and you want her forever.

you kiss her and you end up having to move a few bouquets because when she leans you back on the couch you accidentally kick one and it’s funny and sweet and your jeans are hard to get off and she has weird socks on and maybe this is what it’s like to feel grief, the way she touches you with so much tenderness you can’t bear to keep your eyes open; you offer yourself up completely, and when she takes you in you think it has to be some sort of heaven.

//

‘where are we going?’ jane asks, ‘because jacqueline asked for more pitches and i don’t really have anything good, and—’

sutton covers her mouth and jane licks it and you laugh at both of them—jane’s triumphant smile and sutton’s look of absolute disgust—and when your lyft stops at fifth and 57th, jane’s jaw drops and sutton says, ‘no fucking  _way_ , kat.’

they scramble out of the cab and the cold whips all around you.

‘i proposed, last night.’

‘what the  _fuck_.’

they’re not mad, they’re both wearing these insane smiles, but you think you’re all a little unhinged and you have to calm down before you go into tiffany’s because you need a ring and you don’t want to get kicked out for screaming in the middle of the flagship store.

‘tell us everything!’

‘stop yelling,’ you say, and they both look at each other before  _screaming_  and wrapping you in a hug.

‘katherine is getting  _married_!’

‘oh my god,’ you grumble.

‘you do realize that this is absolutely, entirely crazy, right?’ jane checks, still pressed into your side.

‘yes,’ you say. ‘i just, i want to try. and i don’t want to have to figure it all out in the next month, or the next year, or whatever. and i love her, i’m in love with her, and—’ you shrug— ‘i want to.’

sutton nods, determined. ‘let’s get a ring, then, yeah?’

‘it’s cold,’ jane says in agreement, and they both hold your hands as you walk into the store.

//

you’re with adena on your couch, and it feels oddly normal to be watching rihanna videos on repeat because you’re both really drained and kind of exhausted and there’s a ton to talk about—you hate the idea of therapy with every fiber of your being but you think you should probably go—but not tonight.

you go to your purse hanging on the hook when adena is peeing and when she sits back down you take the box out from behind the pillow and offer it to her.

she opens it, breathes out a sigh, and you  _know_ , because the ring sutton had helped you pick is beautiful and simple and really gorgeous, rose gold and a single diamond. 

‘wow,’ she says. ‘you are serious about this.’

‘yeah.’ you take the ring out and she offers her hand; you slip it onto her finger. ‘i am.’

she smiles up at you after she studies the ring and kisses you gently. ‘my mother is sending my great grandmother’s ring, for you. i’ll have to get it sized, but—’

‘—you don’t have to do that.’

adena scrunches up her face like she does when she’s confused and you love her. ‘you are going to be my wife,’ she says, just like that. ‘i want you to have a ring.’

‘okay.’ you kiss her. ‘i’d like a ring.’

she smiles and you wrap your arm around her shoulders and you can’t believe you proposed—a second time, kind of, you guess—to bitch better have my money playing in the background but whatever. adena kisses your shoulder and pushes your glasses up when they slip down your nose and she falls asleep with her ring on, doesn’t take it off when you climb into bed.

//

you don’t know how adena finds out your wring size—it was sutton, you’re absolutely sure—but sunday morning you wake up to her slipping the most beautiful ring you have ever seen onto your finger.

‘whoa,’ you mumble, hold it up closer to your face so you can see. 

adena smiles. ‘beautiful,’ she says, only she’s not looking at the ring at all, and when she kisses you everything makes a whole hell of a lot of sense.

//

sutton and jane are  _loud_  in the fashion closet the next day, jesus  _fucking_  christ, so loud that jacqueline pokes her head in because you’re all like an hour early but she’s been here since probably 5 am.

‘kat’s engaged!’ sutton announces.

jacqueline smiles, genuinely, at all of your blatant excitement. ‘congratulations.’ it’s sincere and she doesn’t say anything about how fast it was, or how it’s probably the wildest decision you’ve ever made. 

‘thank you.’

she nods and leaves jane and sutton to more screaming.

‘you’re going to blow my eardrums,’ you say.

‘shut up,’ jane says, holding the ring close to her again. ‘we are going to plan the  _best_  wedding.’

‘oh god.’

sutton grins. ‘the _best,_ kat.’

//

you get home and you’re exhausted. you’ve cleared the flowers from your apartment because they’d started to die and it had felt sad, really fucking terrible, but then adena had wrapped her arms around you from behind and kissed beneath your ear and had told you that they were already dead to begin with but the gesture was beautiful. it had made you laugh and you didn’t know why but  you take the comfort from her when you can, like someone starving and being fed warm bread and honey.

you lie together in your bed even though you’re both so warm you don’t think either of you are asleep but you can’t stop touching her, can’t let her go, even though it’s late; maybe because it’s late.

you want to tell her things, that you’ve never loved anyone like you love her and you won’t ever love someone like this again, that you’re so sure of it you feel it like you’re sure of your own bones, the thump of your own heart, the way your blood tasted in your mouth when you were fifteen and someone had called you a terrible word and you had tried to hit him but you were small and not nearly as strong and he had hit you back and you had held ice to your split lip and your parents had to pick you up from the principal’s office.

you don’t know how to tell her that you are so  _sure_  of her; she kisses you and there’s a scar on the inside of your lip from that day, where your teeth had pressed into your mouth too hard and she finds it with her tongue sometimes, doesn’t say anything because you think maybe she knows.

it’s too hot but you kiss her back and you don’t sleep but maybe it’s better that way, because you have more time.

you hold her all night.

**Author's Note:**

> wow kat did that!! all on her own!! they were jus supposed to have hot angry sex but here she goes!! love that messy bitch


End file.
